Abduction
by hedgehogkween
Summary: Arthur is abducted by aliens, and *gasp* shipped with Gilbert. The real question is which one is more shocking? Contains: Pruk (obviously), graphic gore/ general nastiness, possible FrUS, and... other things.
1. Chapter 1

A soft groan escaped from Arthur's throat as he woke. At first he thought that he was having some strange dentist-related nightmare, what with bright lights above his head, blaring down at and nearly blinding him. He blinked against it, trying to make out what was around him. It was at this point that he discovered he couldn't move his head, and by extension he found the same was true of the rest of his body.

_"Well, that's not a good sign…"_

He tried to speak, ask where he was- he was quite positive now that he was awake- but all he could manage was another low, achy groan. In response, something across the room made a noise. It sounded like a voice, speaking some shrill, foreign language. He couldn't understand a word of it… that is, if they were in fact words. Something appeared over the light, a dark shape. It looked like a head, only horribly misshapen with giant, black, almond-shaped eyes. He whined softly. If he could move he would have kicked it away and run, where to he had no idea. Where was he anyway?

Other sounds in the room slowly reached him, beeping of machines, sloshing of liquid, and more of the strange, murmuring voices in the background. He could see a steel ceiling once the misshapen creature moved away from the light. Within a short time he could move his head, at least enough to look down. He could see his body, his bare torso laden with sloppy stitches running up and down in zigzagged lines, done up in black thread. Blood oozed from the incisions. Some strange, blotchy hunk of flesh had been sewn over his stomach, his own rearranged to accommodate its size. The new skin hung loose on him. Another strange, alien-like head lowered into his vision, apparently noticing that he was awake… aliens. Was that what they were? It would make sense, what with the strange machinery and faces and experiments. He tried to jump away from it but only ended up giving a little jolt, hurting his limps as if they were stuck down with needles. The creature screeched and pulled away again, causing a sort of ripple effect of other screeches and panicked sounds from the creatures around the room. Arthur heard some sort of beeping sound grow louder, gradually drowning everything else out until one of the alien creatures put something over his mouth. He made yet another attempt to raise his arms and to pry it away, but his efforts were futile. It spewed gas at him which he sucked in, only because he had nothing else to breathe, and his vision started to blur. His movement stopped, his head lulled back, and he was left limp, staring up into the light, until it slowly faded to darkness.

…

Arthur woke up somewhere different, how much later was indistinguishable. All he remembered was going to bed on Sunday, and now waking up somewhere dark, cold, and dirty. He twitched a finger, then his hand, and finally made an attempt to pull himself up. He could move, this much he was certain of, but it was a slow, unsteady movement. He wobbled and fell again quickly, looking around. He was… in front of his boyfriend's house? How odd of them to leave him there of all places. He'd fallen asleep at the house, as far as he remembered, and then… then what? Why was he outside again? And why did his body hurt so much? He staggered up, stumbling his way to the door and ultimately falling against it. He tried to ring the bell, pressing his hand against it with all the shaky strength he could muster, but he could barely press it inward.

If the _thud_ of his head against the door hadn't been enough to wake its occupant Arthur would have ended up staying outside all night. The door swung in, as did Arthur, landing at the young man's feet.

"What the _hell_?" came the sharp, familiar voice. Arthur felt himself being roughly picked up, staring into blood red eyes, wide with concern. "Arthur! Arthur, say something! What's wrong? Arthur?" The voice faded in and out of Arthur's hearing. He only caught a few things, mostly his own name. He mumbled something in response, gagging on his words. He heard the door slam shut, felt the big, strong arms of his albino lover dragging him along. They stopped at what appeared to be the bathroom, where he found himself collapsing over the toilet.

"Liebling, what's wrong? You're pale as… well, me." His hand settled itself on his shoulder. Arthur gagged, retched, and finally choked something out. A foreign substance seeped from his throat, viscous like heavy cake batter and fluorescent purple in color, pouring out into the toilet bowl. Arthur continued to cough it up, gasping for air between globs of the stuff. The albino simply stared on in horror, keeping his hand on Arthur's back and letting him choke out whatever the hell that was oozing from his throat.

Arthur finally stopped, his head falling against the toilet seat. His breathing was slow and rough, purple liquid still dribbling from one corner of his mouth. The albino knelt down to look him in the eye, shakily dabbing away the remaining liquid with a tissue.

"M-mein gott lieb… wh-what's wrong with you?" he whispered, staring down at him in horror. Arthur could only blink, his vision bleary, tears dripping from his eyes. He shook his head; he didn't know. He hadn't the slightest idea what had happened to him, or when it had happened. He coughed again, sending forth another, thicker chunk of purple, a little red following it.

"G-Gil… Gilbuh… b-bert…" he mumbled, his eyelids fluttering. Gilbert nodded, waiting for something else, anything else, but Arthur said nothing more. He sighed, pecking a kiss to his lover's forehead and propping him up against the counter.

"We need to get you a doctor…" he decided. "Stay here, I'll be back. I'm going to call an ambulance, you need some serious help with this…" He stood and ran out of the room. Arthur gave a little whine after him, watching him disappear down the hall. No, no, Gilbert couldn't leave, not now! Not when Arthur needed him! The Brit shifted away from the counter, pulling himself to the door frame and attempting to stand with it as an immobile crutch. He made it halfway up a few times, listening to Gilbert's panicked voice somewhere else in the house. He needed to get to it. He threw himself against the wall, regaining his balance slowly and feeling his way along. Gilbert emerged, scolded him, and held him up with one arm.

"Yeah, yeah… you'll be here soon, right? _Really_ soon? He looks like he's going to die, he just spewed like a whole toilet full of this purple stuff—No, this isn't a prank!" He scowled, helping Arthur along to the bathroom. He argued with whoever was on the other line before someone else- someone in the background, he didn't know who- had an ambulance sent for them. Arthur coughed again, half because his throat ached and half because he wanted Gilbert's attention again. The albino shushed him softly, sitting down next to the toilet with Arthur in his lap.

"Oi, lieb, it'll be okay. They're sending over an ambulance right now, y-you're going to be okay…" He frowned, noticing something black poking up from Arthur's ugly chartreuse sweater. It looked like… a black thread? He frowned, giving it a little tug. Arthur cried out in pain, shoving his hand away and hiding his face against Gilbert's shirtfront.

"D-don't t-touch it…" he grumbled, teeth gritted together in pain. Gilbert frowned, sitting Arthur back up and pulling his shirt up. All was revealed; the horrible, jagged cuts, sloppily stitched in skin that wasn't Arthur's own over his vital organs. The incisions stretched all the way to his sides, just touching his ribcage, and ending where his underwear started. He gagged, looking away and shoving his shirt back down.

"M-mien gott, lieb…" he murmured, gently pulling Arthur back into his arms. "Wh-what the hell is happening to you…?"


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur found himself staring up at a bland, cream-colored ceiling for a long time, oblivious to his surroundings. There was no bright light this time, just a warm and slightly yellowy lamp next his bed… He was on a bed? Where was he? He lifted his head, looking around the room. The walls were stained the same creamy yellow color from a combination of age and lighting, and what he could see of the floor appeared to be an ugly teal color. A simple painting of a fruit tree and a small village paralleled him on the opposite wall, presumably meant to brighten the room. To one side of him sat a small table on wheels carrying a few books, papers, and little get well cards and presents. To the other were a few chairs and another, nicer table. He sat up, blinking a few times. Aside from the few items in the room, it seemed so void. A single long window took up the wall behind the chairs. Flower-print curtains were pulled in front of it, sunlight streamed through them. He let his head flop back against the pillow. What had happened? His body still hurt… he'd been at Gilbert's house, and he'd thrown up. That had been awful. But after that… was he at the hospital? That would explain the unfamiliar room. He shut his eyes, listening peacefully to the silence of the room until it was disrupted by the clicking of what he assumed to be the door. He reluctantly lifted his head enough to see who had entered the room.

A mop of blond hair sat on the heads of each of the intruders, as well as two pairs of dazzling blue eyes fixed on him. They whispered back and forth to each other for a while, debating on whether or not to try talking to 'him', presumably meaning Arthur.

"I can hear you, you know." he croaked, coughing afterward. Both heads turned back to face him. Arthur had hoped that he wouldn't have to see either of them again. "Idiots… what are you doing here anyway? C-come to see if I was dead?" He cracked a grin. Both men still stared, eyes wide, lips wordless. "Come on now, it can't be so much of a surprise to see me that neither of you have a thing to say?" Arthur sat up again, propping himself up against his pillow. Silence filled the room. God, couldn't either of them be bothered to speak? After what felt like an era had past the first of the duo cleared his throat.

"We… we're more surprised that you aren't… you know…" he pushed his glasses up, making a gesture with his hands that resembled the pouncing of a lion or other cat of prey. "…freaking out?" Arthur quirked an eyebrow, crossing his arms.

"What on earth are you talking about Alfred? You fool… Francis, do knock some sense into this young man." He looked to the second of the two. To his surprise and dismay he found that Francis had the same sort of reaction as Alfred had.

"He is not joking, mon ami…" He said quietly. "The last time we came to see you, you were lashing out, trying to attack us, screaming for Gilbert… even though he was right next to you…" He frowned. Alfred straightened up and nodded.

"Yeah, it was weird, like you couldn't even see us or anything. It was scary. You made everyone leave but him before you would calm down and say anything, and then you passed out…" Alfred glanced to Francis, then sighed. "That was like, two weeks ago. We've been worrying tha-"

"Two _weeks?!_" Arthur screeched, sitting straight up. The two blonde men jumped, Francis running to his side immediately.

"Careful, you don't want to strain yourself, not with the you-know-what…" he stopped, realizing what he'd said, then pulled his hands away. He took his seat again. He pressed his lips together to silence himself. Both sets of blue eyes lowered to the floor, giving almost guilty looking reactions. Arthur watched, still sitting up.

"What?" he asked, his voice quiet. "Wh-what? What are you two idiots not telling me?" He waited. Neither spoke. "C-can't you two hear me? I-I asked you what y-you aren't telling me! Say something, will you?!" He wanted to scream again. One of the two gave a sigh, and Alfred raised his head.

"Well, Artie, um… it's uh, it's kinda hard to explain… and kinda weird too… y-you're not going to like it…" He coughed into one hand, looking away. "W-we don't really know how it happened… th-the doctors just showed us some pictures, x-rays, data and things… I could barely make anything of it, b-but all of the signs point to the same thing, symptoms and everything based on what Gilbert said." He turned to Arthur again. The Brit had tears in his eyes, staring at them with wide, terror-stricken eyes.

"Wh-what is it?!" he screamed. "Spit it out or I swear, Alfred Jones, I will kick you out of th-this room and i-it will be the last either of y-you see of me for a very long time!" Francis looked up, again coming to his side to lend a gentle hand to Arthur, but it was slapped away. "One of you, _tell me what is going on!_ What's wrong with me? Y-you two are looking at me like I'm going to die!" Again silence took over as the two men watched Arthur cry, each waiting for the other to give an explanation as the little Brit choked out sobs. The silence became eerie as Arthur quieted down, leaving the three with nothing but the soft hum of the air vent. Alfred finally stood, sauntering over to the little table by Arthur's bed. He pulled the papers out from under the various little gifts, flipped through them, pulling a few out. His expression had changed from sympathetic to deadly serious, sending a chill through Arthur's spine. He handed him the few select papers. Arthur took them, looking through them and trying to make them out.

The first had a long list of his own information, likely given by Gilbert; his height, weight, gender, age, things like that. These and a small picture of himself took up about half of the page. The second half was filled with statistics. He couldn't tell what most of them meant aside from his heart rate- 115 beats per minute- but a few of the things repeated, separated from the others. They didn't appear to be his own, they were too low. He flipped to the second page. Small paragraphs ran down it, split up by date. He read through the first few and found them to be day-by-day reports of his time in the hospital, written by Gilbert by the looks of it. The first day or two consisted of little things, the weather, how Arthur looked. Apparently he had gotten better in the first few days, healthier looking at least, but he was still asleep. After that things got… odd. Gilbert started writing about how he worried for Arthur. The doctors were telling him things he couldn't believe, but he wouldn't write what they were. The further he read the more the writings turned into Gilbert's realizations of how true their findings seemed, how scared _he_ was that Arthur was becoming what they said he would become, how everything was moving too fast. Something wasn't right. The next few days were absent. The reports became less frequent, going a day or two without. There didn't appear to be one for that day.

"I… I still don't understand…" he mumbled, looking up at them. Francis had retaken his seat, holding his head in his hands and staring down at his shoes. Alfred stood by his bed, refusing to look at him.

"Look at the next page." He said simply. "That will explain things…" Arthur looked down to the papers, his hands shaking as he passed one over the next.

The final item in the small stack was a series of pictures printed out, some sort of time lapse over what appeared to have been just the past few hours. A little white speck sitting in a large, dark void. Every twenty minutes it grew a little bigger, up until about fifteen or so minutes ago based on a nearby wall clock.

"A-Alfred…" he whispered. "Wh-what am I l-looking at…?" he looked up. Neither of the two men looked at him. "Y-you two… wh-whose are these…? Wh-why are you showing these to me? I-if this is some elaborate joke then I demand you stop it! Wh-what is this?! Alfred, say something?" He threw the papers at the American. They flew in every direction except at him, leaving him without so much as a paper cut.

"Gilbert said that before he found you and called an ambulance, you were gone for almost a whole day…" he started quietly. "A whole day from whenever you two were together at his house. He has no idea where you were in that time. Your car never left the driveway, and nobody seemed to have noticed you leave, nor return home. In other words, it's as if you vanished completely. And not a soul knows why…" Arthur gulped, nodding.

"Y-yes… wh-what d-does that have to do with my being in the hospital? Wh-what does that have to do with these pictures? Alfred, wh-what happened to me? Answer already…" His voice quavered. Blue eyes fixed on his own, magnified by his narrow glasses.

"You're not going to like it…" he mumbled.

"For god's sake, I don't give a damn about that!" He straightened up. "If it's bad enough to put me if the hospital I'm sure as hell that it's not something I'm going to like, just tell me already! For god's sake, tell me!" Alfred's broad hands landed roughly on his shoulders. He winced- and that alone scared him, he never winced at anything- and stared up at him.

"_Arthur_." He said quietly. "There's something… some living creature, some sort of undeveloped, embryonic parasite living inside of you. In simpler terms… you're pregnant." Alfred kept eye contact through his words. Arthur stared back at him. His mouth dropped open in shock, horror, utter terror. The moment Alfred removed his hands he fell back, saying absolutely nothing. What could he say? _'Oh yes, now that you mention it I do recall some strange alien creatures in my sleep, perhaps it's just that.'_? Images brought back to life shone in his eyes of that horrible night, things he didn't remember before. Bright lights flashed at him, blood, he could see his own organs as the strange creatures incised his stomach, poking at things, moving them around, oh, how it hurt, it stung, ached, he hated it, he wanted, needed it to stop.

"G-get away… g-get away from me…" he whispered. His eyes were fixed on some invisible point straight ahead. Francis stood, waiting at the side of his bed opposite Alfred. "N-no… no, d-don't touch me. G-get away! Leave me alone!" His voice raised with every word. "Stop! Stop it! It hurts, it hurts, stop it, someone g-get them away! Help me!" he sat bolt upright, caught by a pair of arms. "Let go!"

"_Arthur!_" The sudden shout broke through his hallucination. He blinked, watching the bright lights and blood and creatures disappear, replaced with the calm, warm, welcoming hospital room. The arms holding him were those of Alfred and Francis, gently easing him back against his pillows.

"It's alright mon ami, it's okay… wh-whoever they are, they can't hurt you now." Francis cooed, pulling Arthur's head to his chest. The Brit was hardly breathing. Each inhale was long, slow, shaky, and each exhale wheezy and pained. Francis took a seat at the edge of the bed, shushing him affectionately and whispering sweet little French nothings at him, keeping his arms wrapped around Arthur as if his life depended on it. Alfred let go for him and now stood at the far end of the bed, doing something with his phone.

"I'm calling Gilbert to come see you." He said, as factually as if it were already so. "He needs to know you're awake, and he'll want to see you. He's been freaking out ever since he dropped you off here." Arthur gave a little nod, laying back down once Francis allowed him to. His gaze drifted back up to the clear, cream-colored ceiling, and stayed there for a long, long time, emptily watching the tiles as if they were the most interesting things in the world.


	3. Chapter 3

Arthur took a long, slow sip of tea and staring out into the starry night sky. During his time in the hospital he found himself becoming more and more uncomfortable around people. At first they thought it was simply his being tired, what with the constant noise of the hospital keeping him up at night and getting visitors, both his own family and Gilbert's coming to see him. Even after they left, however, even when they were at Gilbert's house and there were just a few people over at a time, he found himself hiding away from them. They just freaked him out, always asking questions, wanting to hug or comfort him as if he were a little child who needed constant reassurance that everything was going to be alright in case he should suddenly burst into lethal tears. Gilbert would tell him sometimes that he would 'freak out', as Alfred had put it; violently lashing out at someone for no real reason, clawing, scratching, screaming, demanding that they get out and leave him alone, crying for Gilbert, running and hiding somewhere until he came back… or until someone could slip him an anesthetic. It went on that way for a week or so once he left the hospital, after which Gilbert decided that he just couldn't stay around with the way he was acting.

They had rented a little cabin by the lake, a mile away from even the nearest gas station, and three from the nearest town. It was a beautiful little place, very relaxing. It was their third night there, and now five weeks since Arthur's little run-in with the aliens. He was still thoroughly convinced that it was, in fact, the work of aliens. Alfred encouraged this whole-heartedly and even helped him search, looking online for others who had heard of such encounters. Gilbert thought it was a ridiculous notion. He spent a lot of his time on his laptop, having been allowed to work from there until they figured out what to do with Arthur. Arthur believed him to still be doing so until a broad, sandpapery hand gripped his shoulder. He turned, staring up at the albino.

"Pretty out here, isn't it?" He took a seat on the little bench swing with Arthur, staring out into the star-speckled lake. "That's why I picked this place… nice and quiet, far enough away that you don't have to worry about the others botherin' you… private too, you know…" He paid Arthur a hopeful glance, resting a hand on his inner thigh. The Brit said nothing but nodded, his eyes fixed out on the sky. The moon was near full, illuminating the balcony and the water below. It looked like a disk of light floating far out, waiting for something, watching him. Gilbert gave him a moment to reply before giving up, wrapping his arm around Arthur's shoulders and pulling him a little closer. "You feeling alright lieb? You're really quiet… quieter than usual anyway." He nudged him with a little frown.

"I'm fine Gilbert…" Arthur murmured emptily. "Maybe I'm just tired or something, I don't know, I haven't slept in ages… it's too dark to sleep, they'll get to me if I do…" All seriousness in Gilbert's expression fell away.

"Don't tell me you really still believe all this alien stuff." He grumbled, putting his feet up on the little table in front of the swing. "Really, you have to be serious about this Arthur, try to remember what _actually_ happened." He sat up, turning himself a little to face Arthur. "Was it some sort of psychopath? Did someone just like, grab you off the street and cut you open? You have to remember _something_." He insisted. Arthur frowned and shook his head.

"N…No. It wasn't something human… th-they were bigger, o-or smaller, all pasty white, with huge eyes a-and stringy little fingers…" He sighed. Gilbert thought the whole 'alien' story was a lie, or a ploy, or just completely fabricated, some sort of excuse that Arthur had retreated into when he refused to believe whatever had really happened. He didn't care what was said, but he wouldn't believe that Arthur was actually whisked away by moon men and impregnated for no reason whatsoever.

"Th-they still speak to me…" He continued. "Wh-whispers, out of nowhere… th-they're saying something…" Gilbert rolled his eyes.

"And what, pray tell, do they say?" he asked.

"Th-they… they tell me to go outside…" Arthur lifted his head, facing out towards the lake. "Th-they want me to go into the water… th-they want me to go sink myself in the middle of the lake." A shaky hand raised to point out the place on the lake's surface where the moon rested. "Th-that's where they are… th-they're watching… w-we need to leave. We need to go somewhere they d-don't know, somewhere they can't find us-"

"Arthur, stop it!" Gilbert grabbed his hand and lowered it, forcing Arthur to look him in the eye. "Listen to me; There. Are. No. Aliens. Get that through your head, will you? You're being ridiculous!" He stood again, grumbling to himself and flopping on their bed. The television flicked on inside. "Come in whenever you want. You need to get some damn sleep, you're going to go crazy…"

Arthur gave him an slow, absent nod. "Yes, of course dear… just give me a little more time…" he mumbled, too softly to be heard. "A little… more… time…"

…

Arthur awoke to bright lights in his eyes. It wasn't like the last time though, no, last time had been just one large, artificial light shining into his eyes. This time it was a window, a huge window above him, lit with the light of the moon. He made a weak attempt at standing and found that this time he wasn't restrained either. He sat up, looking around the room. It reminded him of a cross between a strange sci-fi movie set and a children's daycare center; The walls were painted to resemble what he could only think to be 'earth-like' scenes, things like famous landmarks set together with little rhyme or reason. There was a giant Mona Lisa sitting on top of the Great Wall of China, and Big Ben and the EiffelTower were twisted together, and other things that made no sense to him. Little plants and things dotted the scenery as well, all in strange, unnatural colors. Aside from that it looked as if they could have cared less about making him comfortable. They had strange machines littering the room, large glass tanks with fleshy blobs floating in them, and lots of what looked like medical equipment surrounding him. He stood, slightly less threatened by it all than he had been before. Something tugged him back; he had an IV in his arm, pumping a strangely familiar purple liquid into his arm. He dragged it along with him as he walked, looking around the room and finally leaving it all together.

The ship seemed surprisingly void of life. Arthur walked down long, silvery metallic halls. It wasn't so unlike being in a dream, or rather a nightmare that he wasn't afraid of. It was eerily silent, yet somehow calming. He reached what appeared to be the top deck of the ship and stared straight upward through the giant, doming glass. There, staring back at him was the moon, shining in all its glory down at him. Beautiful, perfectly round, and absolutely enormous. Beautiful, yet terrifying.

"Where are we…?" he murmured. 'We'?. Who was 'we'? He barely acknowledged that he'd said it, taking a few steps closer to the glass, staring up into it. The stars felt so much closer than they had. When his gaze finally drifted downward again he found a silver plate hovering in front of him. He stepped onto it, hardly thinking, and another popped up a little higher than the last. He stepped from this plate to the next, and then the next and the next until they stopped, bringing him high enough to touch the glass. His fingers just skimmed the smooth, cool surface. He had long since abandoned the IV, a small stream of purplish liquid dribbling from a tiny hole in his arm.

From the glass window he could see even beyond the moon; a tiny, far-off orange speck of light, as well as a bit of something blue behind the moon itself. Was it possible that he was in space? That would explain an number of things.

"They always did say the view from this high up was breathtaking…" he murmured, giving a soft sigh. He didn't mind the slight haze his vision took the longer he stared, nor the little sounds coming from behind him. Not even his shortness of breath could tear his eyes away from the beautiful, beautiful view outside the window. He vaguely noted the sound of a small thump beneath him, and that the window was further away than it had been. His vision faded to black, his head lulling aside and one cheek resting on the floor as it rushed up to meet him.

…

The sky had turned from inky black to a soft, cool indigo. It was a morning sky. The brightest of stars still speckled it, and the moon was visible, hanging high and staring down at the Brit lazily. Arthur's limp form had been discarded on the beach by the lake. His eyes were fixed on some far-off invisible point in the sky. He didn't really know why now, but he had a feeling that the aliens weren't in the lake anymore. For a while he was content to lay there, staring straight up and letting the frigid water lap softly as his unmentionables. Eventually the soft crunch of footsteps in the gravely sand reached him. Arthur looked up; his eyes met a pair not unlike rubies, glaring down at him. Beneath them sat an impatient scowl, as well as a pair of crossed arms. Arthur wasn't sure what to say, so he just stared, a blank expression on his face.

"Arthur." Gilbert muttered, nudging him with his foot. "Arthur, get up. It's six thirty in the morning." He knelt down. "I don't know what you think you're doing out here at this time, _butt naked_ at that, but whatever it is, stop it. Because it's not working." He stood again, starting back in the direction of their little cabin. "Now come on, I'm going to make us some food." He called. The Brit said nothing at first, but slowly stood, staring after him.

"…okay." He murmured, his voice soft and airy. He plodded along behind Gilbert, acting as if he'd never seen the man before.


End file.
